The Vortex

It's four-thirty in the morning

And the dawn breaks across the sky

Creating a time for passage.

North, East, South and West

join in the vortex

that becomes the new day.

And so more need for the soft as a feather

bed on a grey cold morning.

Our heroine retreats to her cave

spinning through the rocks and boulders

of hard day light

Spinning toward the centre ever outward

red tide creeps across the sky like a pox

and yet the yellow morning

light sings a promise of dew

and foxgloves

poisonous and beautiful